Seed on the Wind

Mr. Winter paid no attention to Lora’s outburst. “That would help a lot,” he said sarcastically. “From now on do what I tell you, understand that. Come on to bed. I’ve got to be out at eight.” His voice rose a little, thin and strained. “Lora, you go to bed and stay there. Understand that. Stay there.”

On his way to the hall he pressed the wall switch, and mother and daughter, following him, guided themselves by the dancing firelight.

The following afternoon Lora found that she was a prisoner. She was not under any circumstances to go downstairs, she was not to show herself at the window, and the door of her room was to be kept always closed; she was to open it to go down the hall to the bathroom only with circumspection after making sure there was no one about. Her meals would be brought up to her. These rules were imparted to her by her mother, who repeated them as if she were reciting a lesson. To Lora, strengthened and refreshed by ten hours’ sleep and a good meal, the arrangement seemed fantastic. She argued with her mother about it. Sooner or later people would know; things like that were always found out. Martha, the maid, would learn, and of course would talk. Cecelia already knew, and apparently had already talked. But this Mrs. Winter denied. Under a storm of questions and demands Cecelia had stuck to her story and refused to admit anything. His intuition, or maybe the devil, had sent him to Chicago. Cecelia could be trusted. Martha too. Martha loved Lora too well to give her away; she would be as tight as a clam.

Mrs. Winter sat in a rocker beside the bed and went on for an hour; Lora could not remember when her mother had talked as much in a month as she did that afternoon. She seemed more excited than distressed at her daughter’s predicament; she insisted on knowing all the details, the man’s name, the occasion, what he looked like.

“You’re lucky he went away,” she said, her eyes, usually so dull and red, shining as Lora had never seen them before. “Yes you are, you’re lucky. I know what I’m talking about — whatever else he might have done it would be worse than going away.” She sighed, a trembling miniature sigh, as if that was all she could risk without danger of dissolution. “I know I’ve never been a good mother. I’ve never been a good anything. I never have been since my wedding day. That night he looked at me with a look in his eyes I’ve never forgot, and if I’d known then what it meant I’d have gone straight and jumped in the river. There was a lovely river right by the house. You wouldn’t remember it, we left that place when you were still a baby.”

Her eyes glittered.

“There’s a lot you don’t know. I was three months gone on my wedding day; that’s why he married me, I told him he had to. And then after you came he pretended to believe you weren’t his daughter. He never believed that at all, but he claimed to. How do I know he never believed it? Lots of ways. One thing, he stopped kissing you when you began to fill out. I used to watch every day, I used to notice how funny he acted, and sure enough one day it was too much for him. That night in bed I laughed at him and told him I guessed he might as well give up; it was plain he knew where you came from. In bed was always the only time I could talk to him, it’s still that way, I’m not afraid then, I say anything I want to and that’s when I get even with him. Lying down that way is the time to deal with a man. Often it was too much for him, he couldn’t stand it, he’d get up and walk up and down, raving in his quiet voice so you and Martha couldn’t hear him — he always had a horror of you hearing us — and sometimes he’d go off downstairs no matter what time of night it was and I’d go to sleep. But he has never once admitted that he knows he’s your father. I could never drive him to that, but he knows it all right. He even used to claim he knew who it was — made it up to torment me. At first I didn’t have any sense about it. I would beg him with tears in my eyes to believe me. Oh, I didn’t know him then. You were just a tiny baby, and with you right there in the room watching us I would get on my knees to him and beg him.”